


Enjoying the Ride

by ashtraythief



Series: Underneath 'verse [28]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternative Universe - FBI, Crimes & Criminals, Don't copy to another site, Honeymoon, M/M, Schmoop, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 22:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20785865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashtraythief/pseuds/ashtraythief
Summary: Jared and Jensen go on their honeymoon.





	Enjoying the Ride

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for your amazing feedback on the wedding, I love you all so much! You keep amazing and humbling me. And you also kinda sent my muse into strange productivity, so have a honeymoon!  
Many thanks to expectative for help with the French, all remaining mistakes are either mine or Jensen’s. Flowers and cookies for ilikaicalie and masja_17 for their patient beta work! Thanks so much!

When Jared gave Jensen two plane tickets to Paris, Jensen stared in disbelief.

“Paris?”

“It’s the city of love, isn’t it?”

Jensen narrowed his eyes. “Do you have business there?”

“Do you really think I would risk your wrath during our honeymoon?”

Jensen smiled smugly before he looked back at the tickets. “Seriously though? Paris?”

Jared shrugged. “We can go somewhere else if you want to.”

“Nah, Paris is good. And I get to tease you about being a big old softie forever, so there’s that.”

With three steps, Jared had Jensen pressed against the wall. “I’ll show you softie.”

Jensen just laughed. It wasn’t like he was losing either way.

Jared was fairly fluent in Spanish, he knew enough to threaten someone in Italian, and he’d started learning Russian, but that wouldn’t help them in Paris. Jensen had taken three years of French in college, but he was rusty. So he got himself a book. After a couple of weeks, he was fairly certain he’d be able to order in a restaurant and ask for the way if they got lost. Just in case, he also learned the phrases for _get the hell out of here_, _fuck you_, and _he will kill you_. You just never knew what you’d need.

They flew first class and Jensen marveled at the absolute decadence of it. They stayed at one of Paris’s ritziest hotels, in one of those fancy presidential suits.

“I need a shower,” Jensen said while assessing the sheer size of the rooms. “Also we’re never gonna be able to fuck on every surface.”

Jared shot him an amused look. “That’s a criterion for a hotel room?”

“For a honeymoon suite, yeah.”

“Well.” Jared pulled Jensen towards the bathroom. “We can try.”

They had breakfast in bed and walked the streets of Paris, ate pastries at little cafes and dined at the finest restaurants.

Clif and two of his guys were following them at an acceptable distance—Jensen hadn’t wanted any bodyguards, but he understood Jared’s insistence on it—and most of the time, Jensen was able to ignore them.

They got a private tour of the catacombs and Jensen dragged Jared to all the museums.

Jared was a surprisingly good sport about it and let Jensen lecture him about art. When Jensen demanded an entire day for the Louvre, Jared declared he’d need at least one blowjob to tide him over. Jensen told him that wouldn’t be a problem.

The Louvre was the holy grail for art thieves. One of the most renowned museums in the world, a name that inspired awe and respect. Walking the high marble halls, Jensen understood why.

Jensen tried to focus on the stunning Monet, he really did, but his eyes kept drifting back to the security cameras and the motion sensors installed in the corners.

The Louvre had top-notch security, a line of motion sensors Jensen had thought were still in the testing phase, and—according to Cindy—even lasers in the air vents. Since the security system update three years ago, not a single attempt to break into the Louvre had been successful.

Jared walked up behind Jensen, pressed a kiss to his cheek. Jensen could feel his lips curve into a smile.

“So, how would you do it?”

“What?”

“Oh, come on. I’ve seen you eying the security. I know that you’re thinking about it. So. Tell me. How would you do it?”

Jensen licked his lips. The familiar tendrils of anticipation started to spread through his body. “I need to see more.”

Jared gripped his hand. “Let’s go then.”

“So?” Jared asked finally when they were standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the Nike of Samothrace. “How’d you do it?”

And dammit, but Jensen actually had a plan. And there was a part of him that was dying to see if it would work. But he couldn’t.

Telling Jared in hushed tones what he’d do was the closest he’d ever get.

Somewhere after Jensen had laid out his plan of entry and before he reached the point where he’d describe his exit, he realized how Jared’s hands on his hips had tightened and that he was hard against Jensen’s ass.

“Is this turning you on?” Jensen asked incredulously.

“You’re very good at what you do, sweetheart. Seeing you live in action is kinda hot.”

“Well, it’s only theoretical,” Jensen said. “We’re not exactly flying under the radar, and I’m pretty sure the guy in the corner is Interpol.”

They’d had a shadow for four rooms, a guy in a bad suit who was very studiously reading all the plaques while trying not to stare at Jensen.

“Unfortunately,” Jared said. “He looks like an asshole. Think we should have some fun with him?”

“Fun?” Jensen asked.

Five minutes later, they’d broken into a maintenance room at the bottom of the closest staircase and were making out, kissing and laughing like a couple of teenagers hiding in the janitor’s closet during recess.

It took the Interpol agent a frankly embarrassing amount of time to come after them. There was a lot of yelling, especially when the Louvre personnel got involved. The head of security drew his gun as soon as he laid eyes on Jensen and when the curator showed up, he almost had a heart attack. He kept gesticulating wildly and babbling about a Manet until Jensen remembered that Morgan had fed Interpol a tip that had put Jensen at the top of the suspect list for a Musée d’Orsay heist four years ago.

Jensen tried to convince the curator for five minutes that it hadn’t been him and that he was just here for his honeymoon, not for stealing. He showed the curator their rings and promised not to take anything home with him. He even switched to French.

“Je suis en vacances,” Jensen said as sincerely as he could. He didn’t know the French word for honeymoon, vacation had to do.[1]

The curator wasn’t convinced.

“Et concernant le Manet,” Jensen continued, “j’ai entendu dire il a été vendu à Vienna. Peut-être votre enquêteur en assurance peut faire quelque chose avec ça?”[2]

Jensen was glad he’d given himself a crash course in thief vocab. Knowing the French word for insurance investigator was definitely coming in handy.

The curator looked stunned, but the head of security looked thoughtful. “Vienne? Ça a une signification particulière?”[3]

Jensen nodded. “Si votre enquêteur en assurance est compétent…”[4]

The security guy snorted, then holstered his gun. “You should leave now, Mr. Campbell,” he said in heavily accented English. Then he looked at Jared. “Do you know who this man is that you married?”

Jared smiled like a man who knew he was holding all the cards. “I do. I am a very lucky man.”

The Interpol agent made a sour face.

“Aw, babe, you say the sweetest things,” Jensen said, then he turned back to the curator and the head of security. “Now, I understand that you’re worried, but I promise, _I pinky swear_, that I am on vacation. On my honeymoon. I have no intention of doing anything illegal while I’m here. Not that I ever would of course.”

The security guard rolled his eyes and the curator huffed.

“You entered an unauthorized area,” the Interpol agent said. “If the museum presses charges…”

Before the head of security could make a decision, Jared stepped forward. “Unfortunately, we’ll have to cut this short. Jensen and I have an invitation for dinner with Francois Delacour.”

“Merde,” the head of security muttered.

The curator paled.

Delacour was a rich and powerful banker, involved in a lot of tax evasion and investment scams, but he was also a philanthropist and a patron of the museum. He’d just recently donated several new pieces for the ancient Rome exhibit.

“What?” the Interpol agent asked. “What’s the problem?”

“Pas de problème,” the curator said, face scrunched up like he was biting on a lemon. “Monsieur Campbell, Monsieur Padalecki, you may leave.”

“Are you kidding me?” The Interpol agent dragged a hand through his hair.

The curator gave him a withering look, then he nodded at Jensen and Jared. He turned to the head of security. “Monsieur Lafitte, please escort these gentlemen outside.”

The head of security motioned towards the exit. “Follow me.”

Jensen nodded at the curator and winked at the Interpol agent while he walked past him. The agent was too angry to notice Jensen swiping his hotel room card. It was a little petty, but Jensen was on his honeymoon.

He took Jared’s hand. “Let’s go.”

Outside, Jensen showed Jared his haul and Jared fondly rolled his eyes and then hailed a cab to drive them to a pretty fancy restaurant.

Being in Paris brought back memories, and Jensen entertained Jared with stories from his times in Europe. They were versions of what he’d told Stevie Williams when he’d first come to Chicago, but this time Jensen left out innuendos about the guys he met. Instead, he found himself telling Jared some of the real stories of his backpacking trips, how he’d hooked up with a group of backpackers and broken into Père Lachaise at night to hold a singing circle at the grave of Jim Morrison, barely escaping when the guards had shown up, how a half-blind, very confused old lady had insisted he was her long-lost grandson and Jensen hadn’t been able to deny her invitation and had spent an afternoon getting fed with french eclairs and petting a lot of cats, and how he’d gotten on a random train and didn’t know where he’d end up until he stumbled out of it in the middle of the night and found himself in Nice.

In return, Jared told him a few of his more juvenile Stanford stories, which unsurprisingly, all involved Chad. Jensen’s favorite was when Jared and Chad framed a pet shop owner for drug smuggling to stop him from breeding puppies in horrid conditions in his basement.

When Jared and Jensen went back to the hotel, they slowly took each other’s clothes off, and then Jared sat down on the sofa and pulled Jensen into his lap, eyes fixed hungrily on Jensen while he fucked himself on Jared’s cock.

Watching Jared stare at him like that, after what he’d said in the Louvre, how Jensen’s planning had turned him on, Jensen thought of a perfect honeymoon gift. He leaned back, reveled in the shift in pressure and smiled.

“Whatcha smiling about, sweetheart?” Jared panted out.

Jensen reached for him, slid his hand into Jared’s hair and pulled. Jared hissed and Jensen leaned forward to kiss him. “You,” he said against Jared’s mouth, “and how much I can turn you on.”

Jared’s hands tightened on his hips. “That’s not exactly a revelation.”

“No,” Jensen said, pressed down and stilled for a moment. Kissed Jared again, open and soft.

Jared’s eyes remained fixed on Jensen’s, pupils blown in pleasure but narrowed in curiosity.

Jensen kissed him again, lingered and enjoyed Jared waiting for his answer. Slowly, he raised himself up, then sank down, eyes closed, feeling Jared slide over his sweet spot.

“But it still gives me a thrill. Every time.”

“Yeah.” Jared’s voice was raw. He gripped Jensen tight and whirled him around.

Jensen’s back hit the sofa and before he’d caught his breath, Jared was between his leg, pushing in deep, gripping Jensen’s shoulders to get as close as possible.

“Every time.” Jared’s breath was hot on Jensen’s throat and his voice quiet against his skin. “Always.”

And Jensen dug his fingers into Jared’s back and shoulders, wrapped his legs tightly around his hips and held on as close as possible.

“Yes. Always.”

The next morning during breakfast in bed, Jensen dug the ticket stub from the Louvre out of his pocket. He gave it to Jared.

“Consider this a honeymoon gift.”

“A honeymoon gift?” Jared asked amused. He inspected the ticket and his forehead wrinkled. “A ticket stub that we already used?”

Jensen nudged him with his foot. “Turn it around and read.”

With the hotel pen, he’d written on it: _one ridealong_.

Jared looked at it in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“It means the next time I go on a heist, I’m gonna get a mic and a camera and you get to watch everything I do.” Jensen paused for effect. “And when I jerk off after to celebrate, you get to watch that too.”

Jared’s head snapped up, eyes dark.

Jensen grinned.

Jared pounced on him, tumbling them into the sheets and kissing him until Jensen had to gasp for breath.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” Jared muttered against his mouth while he pulled down Jensen’s briefs. He didn’t sound too mad about it.

Jensen squeezed his eyes shut, focused on Jared’s hands and his mouth. This was real, now. He didn’t need to think about later yet.

“Love you too, babe,” Jensen said and slid a hand into Jared’s hair while Jared scooted down his body.

Jared snorted, but Jensen couldn’t be mad at Jared not taking his declarations of feelings seriously when Jared kissed his way down Jensen’s body and proceeded to blow him until Jensen came shouting his name.

That evening, after they’d had dinner with Delacour, Jared gave Jensen his own honeymoon gift. It was a beautiful little sketch by Van Gogh, showing his bedroom.

“A bedroom sketch?” Jensen asked.

“You left a print of his bedroom painting in my office after you stole my painting.” Jared’s eyes were dark. “I haven’t forgotten.”

Carefully, Jensen took the sketch. It was masterful. Clear lines in dynamic patterns, simple but with a depth that drew him in, invited him to step inside and lie down. And of course, it was an original.

Jensen put it down on the desk, then started taking off his clothes. Jared watched him more attentively than any painting he’d looked at during their museum trips.

“I’d say I was already flirting, but I didn’t know then.”

“Know what?” Jared asked.

Jensen pushed Jared down onto the bed, crawled on top of him. “The kind of man you’d be.”

“And what kind would that be?”

“My kind,” Jensen said and took Jared into his mouth.

All in all, it was a pretty good honeymoon.

**Author's Note:**

> [The Van Gogh sketch Jared got for Jensen](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Vincent_van_Gogh_-_Vincent%27s_Bedroom_in_Arles_-_Letter_Sketch_October_1888.jpg)
> 
> You can come find me on tumblr [here](http://ashtraythief.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [here.](https://twitter.com/ashtraythief) My ask box is always open.
> 
> French translation 
> 
> 1Je suis en vacances = I am on vacation.  
[return to text]
> 
> 2 “Et concernant le Manet,” Jensen continued, “j’ai entendu dire il a été vendu à Vienna. Peut-être votre enquêteur en assurance peut faire quelque chose avec ça? = “Concerning the Manet,” Jensen continued, “I heard that is was sold in Vienna. Maybe your insurance investigator can do something with this information?”  
[ return to text ]
> 
> 3 Vienne? Ça a une signification particulière? = Vienna? Is that supposed to mean something?  [ return to text ]
> 
> 4 Si votre enquêteur en assurance est compétent… = If your insurance investigator knows what he’s doing....  [ return to text ]


End file.
